A dishonest heart
by Dolly Schiller
Summary: Moriarty/OC. Six years before Moriarty meets the great Sherlock Holmes, a young lady gets in his way. During a visit he does to the Tower, he puts his eyes on one of the actresses playing there. He is determinated to get her, have some fun and, basically, forget her, but she is suddenly gone. Rest of the summary inside. Multichapter. RE-UPLOAD


**Summary: **Six years before Moriarty meets the great Sherlock Holmes, a young lady gets in his way. During a visit he does to the Tower, he puts his eyes on one of the actresses playing there. He is determinated to get her, have some fun and, basically, forget her, but she is suddenly gone. From that moment on, they will run into each other constantly, but, everytime, she will be gone before he can reach her. Only when she decides so, they will have a proper meeting. Will she be able to make an impression strong enough to make him want to keep her? Why does she haunt him and what does she hide? But, most of all, _who_ is she?

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Sherlock or any of its character, only Evey and my writing.

PART 1: THE HARDEST OF HEARTS

**Summer of 2004, London.**

It was one of those days.

Irony was playing with him again, getting his disproportionate boredom to not allow him to do more than tumbling beneath the sheets, drowning in self-pity and cursing his longing for distractions.

The heat and his asphyxiant tedium tarnished that day, making it hard for the man to decide to get out of the small apartament he had back then. He hated that apartament. He was never a great supporter for big homes, actually, he was never too interested in the term "home", but even he could see that place was oppresive. Also, it didn't feel like it did justice to his person.

Home, a place to go back after a working day, or one to wobble to after getting out of the last bar, ultimately, a safe place. He always thought that the house that would belong to him one day, would have a wide library and numerous lairs along its lounges, maybe even some secret passages like the ones in detective stories. But, unless you were one of the many cockroaches that decided to visit his humble house, in that domicile there was no place to hide anything. Not even yourself.

He lazily sticked out his head from underneath the blankets, dedicating that mean look that used to accompany him during those days to the only and not at all majestic shelf that he owned, he cursed the place in a growl to see the way his too many books threatened to overthrow the timber structure.

"Fucking dump".

He wouldn't find a story thrilling enough to keep sitting in the divan of his apartament, passive and letting his ideas escape from his mind without doing anything about it. He needed something new, something big, the kind of feat he had been craving for during so many years.

His wish to find something that he considered productive made him get out of bed two hours after waking up, too anxious to bother in having a shower. Once he knew for sure what he desired to do, he was meticulous with his looks, usually wearing suits and abusing of hair gel, but, in days like those, his wrinkled shirt and that fuzz covering his face made him look lost around the streets.

But that was the point. Not remaining always the same, showing himself different in every situation and create the illusion of being another person each time.

It was one of those long Saturday mornings when suicide seemed like the only viable option to sate his boredom. James wandered the streets for a while, both hands inside his pockets and an annoyed look on his face. He walked his gaze over the many stores that were now opening, commerces and little cafes that he knew too well. He carelessly read the deals and menus that were hanging on the showscases, repeating sarcastically the absurd commercial lines inside his head.

Once he reached the semaphore, he stopped in front of the zebra crossing and rested the weight of his back in the body of a streetlight, lighting a cigarette while the ridiculous, red figurine denied him passage. He considered how much damage it would be caused if he walked across right now: the truck would hit his side and his body would fly over the hood. Then, he could fall back in front, giving a fatal outcome to the accident, since the vehicle would have no choice but roll over him. Or, he could fall aside or even behind, leading to a not so exciting day at the hospital.

The change of light in the semaphore brought him back to reality, and Moriarty casted away his cigarette end while he watched as the truck's driver faded away, oblivious at the fact that he just took part in a somewhat macabre reverie. That thought got him to smile.

With renewed energies, the man rushed his cigarette while he crossed over the streets, looking for a path. It was late June, so, as he got closer to the most centric parts of the city, there were more and more tourists. A desire for extermination briefly possessed him as he watched how the most clumsy foreign people posed with their London tshirts in front of the emblematic buildings, but he wasn't in the mood for that. So, he discarded that idea and let his cigarette fall to the floor, fiercely crushing it against the gravel with his foot after.

Perhaps that would be some fun, personating himself as another of the both dull and predictable little people around him. Fun wasn't the right word, but he needed to do something new, renew his thoughts and maybe elaborate some plan once he was inside. Whatever.

He remained detached from his surroundings while he faked some interest in the leaflets and explanations the tourist guides were trying to provide him. Within an hour, he went from sinking among the sheets of the bed to sinking among a group of overexcited, curious people that photographed every stretch they were allowed to in the Tower of London.

He passed by the lack of knowledge the lady guiding them from room to room showed, completing mentally her too softened explanation about the events occurred in each room. He also faked some goofy smiles when the newly incorporated actors staged some of the historical facts, thinking about how the former rulers would be now churning inside their graves to the offense of such a pathetic performance.

After commenting some of the tragic doings that took place there, the guide's shade changed, happily talking now about the affairts at court. In that occasion, Jim wasn't the only one to be surprised at the fact that she chose the Tower of London, of all the places, to talk about romance, but it was even more atypical that she was so cheerfully rambling about affairs that would so often end up with the execution of both lovers. But, being with such an ordinary clique, he really didn't care.

Fortunately to those figures from the past, they didn't choose any known couple to portray those love affairs, instead they turned up period music and introduced a folding screen, after wich they could pick out the silhouettes of a pair. In front of the said screen, could be found an alleged lady in waiting, who's function was to watch over those forbidden unions, but this _actress_ wouldn't stop putting up stupid and supposedly comical faces. At that moment, Moriarty wished to have placed himself in front of that truck back that morning.

Then, the attention was focused mainly on the couple hidden to the view, and he tried to pierce the woman's body. Through the fabric material, he distinguished the frillls and corse of her dress, attached purely to accentuate both her breasts and rear, and the image of some glib tavern at a thematic bar crossed his mind. But there was something in her profile that didn't allow him to mock her, at least not entirely.

Her arms and hands moved elegantly, playing with the man in front of her, but also pushing him away. She was skinny, but not skeletal, her prominent hips throwing away any idea of some starved model. Suddenly, he was a little more interested in that visit, a smile forming on his lips as he watched the way her heavy breathing would violently move her breasts inside that corse, gesture that now was far way from seeming ordinary to him.

- Oh, James... -a flirtatious voice was heard behind the folding screen, accompanied by some dreamy laughter.

The performance, judging by the smothered laughter that inundated the room, was supposed to be comical, but Moriarty wasn't listening to them; he stopped doing so as soon as he heard his name upon unknown lips. The fact that the woman he couldn't see just yet didn't say his name thinking about him was perceptible even through his ego, but that didn't stop a shiver from making a brief trail across his neck.

With impatience, he focused on the screen hiding the owner of the voice before heard and the man who's annoying wheezing he wanted to silence, despairing every time they would cover the woman's voice. When he was about to drag that mutt out of the place, the female figure came out of her hideout and crossed the lounge, availing of dance steps and graceful turns.

The wheezing man was following the lady in a mischievous manner, and she would always advance past him, remaining untouchable. His wish to eliminate the person who had been hiding with her stayed inside of him, but the defiant, unreachable smile he saw through the lass's brown ringlets, which moved along her moves, blinded any other desire that wasn't to force her to stop.

Uncaring about her being an actress in the middle of a representation or the other people in the Tower, James stretched out his arm to her in a abrupt and violent move, but his fist was close sharply, catching only air. The distant echo of her mocking laughter being the only memory of her presence, and his own nails sinking into his palm, proof of his frustrated feat. Like she was nothing but a ghost he had tried vainly to make his own.

Pushing the rest of viewers aside and ignoring the other actors that were starting a new performance and guiding the tourists to other rooms, Moriarty made his way to the place whereby the girl had disappeared, determinated to make out of her something more than a five seconds memory, but the only thing he found were closed doors.

He considered picking the lock, but it seemed like too much of a scandal for what his initial plan was. He wouldn't wait for her at the door, neither, since he wasn't willing to humiliate himself like that. Also, the moment was gone. He didn't want to find an ordinary and confused version of the young woman, who would turn out to be not even as half as interesting as he imagined her to be.

But that didn't mean he had given up. He would recreate the situation every damn morning if he had to until he would get that extraordinary being he found to stop. And, that night, he would settle for satiating his thirst with some easier and less desireble woman he could find at any bar.

The woman stayed with her ear next to the wall, trying to guess his breathing across the wood and with her throbbing heart hurting inside her chest. She held her breath until his steps were heard leaving the place, remaining hidden for a little longer, afraid of him forming a trap.

Although everything turned out as planned, her frustration and the fear to never see him again invaded her while she unknotted the multiple cords of her dress. Her plan was easy to sink, it took a persevering and obsessive mind to notice her intentions, but, from what she believed to know of him, Evey thought he had what it was need.

Her lips lifted in a satisfied smile as she let her brunette wig fall to the floor and undid the blonde bun that had been hiding under, taking rid of the dress as well. On the contrary to his thoughts, she wasn't in the locking room beneath the door wich he had been waiting for her in front of, but in a small nook between the halls. The dust and the abandonen ladder that were found there denoted how nobody ever stepped in that part, so she wasn't afraid of undressing and putting back on her usual clothes.

Robert, the man that performed with her some minutes ago, was careless enough about his work to not realize that Evey wasn't part of the cast, so that wouldn't even make an anecdote, but that wasn't what she wanted. She didn't want to go unnoticed and, with the right contacts, she would make sure that incident appeared in the news. It would be some silly article, only the most curious would find it, but, luckily, he would.


End file.
